


These Long Nights

by Yolatirra



Category: Spider-Man (Video Game 2018), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Night Terrors, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 14:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17562596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yolatirra/pseuds/Yolatirra
Summary: There's movement again, a little gasp, and suddenly she's aware and awake. The weight of Pete's body is still there, and he's trembling. Opening her eyes, she finds him facing away from her, curled in on himself. The light of the city makes his edges glow, and draws her gaze to the sheen of sweat on his brow.





	These Long Nights

**Author's Note:**

> I finally played the PS4 Spider-Man game and fell in love with it way more than I expected to. This Peter is everything I've never known I needed Peter to be. He is perfect and I love him, and for once I love MJ too. So I had to write something. Not sure if I'll be writing anything else, since I have like a dozen other writing projects right now, but who knows. Though I am nearly done with a GMV, which I'll probably make an AO3 entry for once I've posted it.

She's grown used to the dip of the mattress and the shifting of blankets when Pete wakes to answer someone's need for Spider-Man. The sound of the alarm or the police alerts don't wake her anymore. Instead it's the movement, the sudden lack of weight and warmth at her side. She doesn't bother opening her eyes as she feels him shift, just mutters a soft, "be safe", and presses deeper into her pillow. The worry used to keep her up, but maybe she's gotten used to that too. On a typical night of crime fighting he's not in much more danger than she is in her bed. The past few months have been relatively peaceful, no super villains or mob bosses to fight. She doesn't need to worry. She trusts him to be careful, like he trusts her.

There's usually a dip of the mattress in response to her sleepy farewell, followed by a whisper of "I will", or a hand squeezing her shoulder, or a kiss on her temple. This time there's nothing. 

Still half asleep, she frowns, some unconscious sense telling her there's something not quite right. There's movement again, a little gasp, and suddenly she's aware and awake. The weight of Pete's body is still there, and he's trembling. Opening her eyes she finds him facing away from her, curled in on himself. The light of the city makes his edges glow, and draws her gaze to the sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Pete?" she whispers. There's no response, but a moment later he curls up tighter, something too much like a whimper reaching her ears.

Pete's had nightmares before. Of course he has. No one with a heart like his could do what he does and come through it with a clear conscience, especially not after Octavius. But he's too deep a sleeper for his dreaming mind to make him toss and turn. Usually her only hint that he's had a bad dream is that he's a bit subdued, and even that doesn't often last long.

Calling his name a little louder this time, she cautiously reaches out, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Half a second later, she's on her back, the wind knocked from her lungs. Pete's got his hand aimed at her face like he's got his web shooters on, and his knees are pressing painfully into her ribs.

She's startled more than frightened, and before she can really process his reaction, let alone her own, he's gone. She has to take a slow breath to regain her bearings before she can turn to look for him. It takes her a few seconds to spot him. He's crouched on the wall next to the window, motionless in the shadows.

"Pete?" she says again, not sure what else to say just yet. 

A shudder seems to break his grip and he slumps to the floor, barely keeping himself from landing on his face. "Fuck," he says on a gasp, then lets it out as a trembling breath as he sits back against the wall. He doesn't look up as he asks, "did I hurt you?"

She gives her answer a moment of thought, knowing he wouldn't trust quick reassurance. "I might be a little bruised in the morning, but mostly you just startled me. I'm fine. I'm sorry I startled you."

"I don't--" his voice breaks and he swallows. "I don't know what that was."

She sits on the edge of the bed, facing him. He still doesn't look up. "A nightmare, I assume?"

He scoffs. "Yeah. Nightmare. Shit, I'm so sorry, MJ."

"It's okay Pete, really."

"It's not! I attacked you."

"But you didn't really." He finally looks up, giving her a look that's half misery, half disbelief. She smiles back. "You just... made sure you were in an advantageous position and then backed off as soon as you knew it was me. You wouldn't have actually hurt me, Pete."

He looks away again. "You can't know that."

Something about the way his shoulders tense even further, the crease in his brow, tells her his response isn't simple practicality, so instead of denying it she asks, "why not?"

He doesn't respond for a long moment, but MJ is patient. Eventually he lets out a little miserable cry and drops his head back against the wall, hard enough that it probably hurt. "I shot Otto in the... nightmare," he says. "I was in the lab and there was a gun just sitting there and I thought if I killed him it would save May but... she died anyway. I don't even know how, she just died. And then Otto was just standing there over her body, laughing at me as he tore me apart and I... all I could think was that I'd killed them both."

She desperately wants to pull him close and comfort him however she can, but she's not sure if the space between them is something he needs or something he's scared to cross. "That isn't you, Pete," she says, putting as much certainty into her tone as she can. "Sometimes we behave in dreams in ways we never would in real life. You didn't kill Otto and you didn't kill May." She holds out a hand toward him. "Come back to bed?"

He stares at her hand for a long moment, long enough that she starts to wonder if he just doesn't want to tell her no and she should give him an out. Then he squeezes his eyes shut, gently shakes his head, and takes her hand. He lets her pull him back onto the bed, tension thrumming through him, movements stiff and minimal. Since he doesn't seem to know what to do with himself, she maneuvers him so he's facing her with his head tucked up under her chin. She presses a kiss to his temple and nuzzles into his hair as she holds him tight. 

"I love you, Pete," she whispers into his sweat-damp hair. "You're safe here, and so am I."

Another shudder runs through him, and when it passes he's gone limp and pliant in her arms. He presses closer, one fist tangled in her shirt while the other wraps around her waist and holds on with careful strength.

"I don't deserve you," he mumbles against her neck. His voice is thick and muffled, and there's a hint of wetness soaking into the fabric over her shoulder.

"You do," she whispers and presses another kiss to his skin. "You deserve the world, Pete." 

Knowing him, he probably doesn't believe her, but he nods against her chest anyway, something determined in the way his grip tightens in her shirt. He doesn't believe it, but he wants to. For now, that's enough.


End file.
